


Sauce For The Gander

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Partner Betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-02
Updated: 2009-09-02
Packaged: 2019-02-02 03:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12718713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Jack's betrayal sends Daniel running into the arms of another man, but is it really the end for Jack and Daniel? Crossover with Burn Notice. Daniel/Michael Westen





	Sauce For The Gander

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

In retrospect, the surprise visit to Jack's condo in Washington may have been a mistake in light of the argument they'd had on the phone the week before. Sure, Daniel had said he was sick of the constant secrecy their relationship entailed. Sure, he had bitched about the whole long-distance never-get-to-see-you-anymore thing they had going. Sure, he had said he was fed up and done with it all. Daniel was just letting off steam, the way he sometimes did when the stress of the job got too intense. Who knew that Jack would take him seriously this time?

_A few days earlier..._

Daniel rolled his head from side to side, trying get the kinks out of his neck. Commercial airplanes, while far superior to catching the jump seat in an air force transport that happened to be going your way, were not famed for their comfort. After more than five hours of flying time plus an hour and a half spent on the layover at Dallas, he was tired, achy, and cranky. The back seat of the cab was at least as cramped as the airplane had been, making it impossible to stretch his legs, which in turn made him restless. He distracted himself by watching the scenery pass by the window. 

He had always liked this section of the George Washington Parkway with its trees and view of the Potomac River. The summer night was falling fast, though, obscuring his view. The trees gave way to suburban streets as the cab exited the parkway and it wasn't long before they pulled up the landscaped drive to the covered entry at Jack's building. As he paid the driver, Daniel's door opened. The air that flowed in was hot and tainted with the smell of the taxi's exhaust. He grabbed the handle of his bag and stepped out. 

"Oh, hey, Dr. Jackson. How are you?" The doorman reaching for the bag seemed genuinely pleased to see Daniel. The gold stripes on the cuff of his coat glinted in the artificial light under the canopy. "Let me take that for you." 

"That's okay, Sal. I've got it." 

Daniel always felt foolish letting someone carry a bag he was more than capable of handling on his own, especially when that someone was several years older than himself. Yet Salvatore Del Voglio always seemed so genuinely glad to help that saying no felt like pushing away a friendly puppy. Sal was also a few inches shorter than Daniel and about fifty pounds heavier, though he looked quite distinguished in the gray livery with its maroon trim. His round face always had a pleasant smile, and an unkind word never crossed his lips. He was Daniel's favorite of the doormen here. 

"Is General O'Neill home?"

"I just got on duty, Dr. Jackson, so I'm not sure. Want me to call up for you?" 

"No, don't bother. I'll just let myself in if he's not there." 

Sal held open the first door for Daniel. He followed Daniel inside but stopped in the vestibule to wait for the next person that might need his services. At a signal from Sal, the inner door was buzzed open by the guard sitting on a stool behind the reception counter inside the building. 

Although dressed in a suit instead of a uniform like Sal, the man was part of security. Under the counter, hidden from guests, a set of monitors displayed video footage from the cameras at every exit and the elevator. Somewhere in the building was a larger room given over completely to the security department with yet more monitors for yet more cameras. 

Daniel waved to the man as he entered and tried to remember his name. It was something simple and plain like Bob or maybe Tom, but he wasn't sure. As a registered key holder to one of the condos, Daniel didn't have to sign in the way an ordinary guest would have. Consequently, he wasn't as familiar with the other security personnel as he was with the doormen. 

Crossing the ornate lobby, with its crystal chandeliers, marble floors, marble-topped tables, Persian carpets and huge vases of fresh flowers, always reminded Daniel of checking into a hotel. After the lobby, the homey ambiance of Jack's condo unit was both unexpected and welcome.

Once in the elevator, Daniel pressed the button for Jack's floor. There were no other stops so it was just a matter of seconds before the elevator doors slid open at the floor he wanted. Fishing in his pocket for the key to the condo door, Daniel was struck, as always, by how hushed the corridor was. Thick carpet muted his footfall as thick walls kept any noise from seeping into the common area from the condos themselves. Daniel used his key to let himself in. A glance at the security panel showed the alarm was off. Not surprising since Jack rarely used it. Having to undo the deadbolt to get in was a step up in security considering that back in Colorado Jack often left his front door unlocked altogether.

Daniel set his bag down on the carpet by the door. Jack's place was as quiet as the corridor had been. The only light in the foyer and living room came from the lamp on the far side of the couch. Maybe Jack was working late. As Daniel walked toward the living room, he passed the door to the kitchen. By the glow of the nightlight by the sink, Daniel could see a bottle of his favorite Merlot standing open on the counter. Moving to the living room itself, he saw two glasses of wine on the coffee table. One glass was about half full, while the other was nearly empty. It looked as though Jack had gotten wind of his arrival and had brought the wine out to greet him. But if that was the case, then why wasn't Jack sitting here waiting for him?

If Jack had decided to watch some television while he waited, Daniel should have heard it by now. The hall leading to the rest of the unit was dark. The open doors to the den and the spare bedroom were black oblongs along the wall. At the end of the hall, the door to the master bedroom was half open, and from the light that spilled out, Daniel could tell that the only light in there was coming from the bathroom. He could hear a faint noise, now, coming from the bedroom, which was odd. There was a television in there but they didn't usually watch that one.

As dark as it was, Daniel didn't bother to flip on the hall light as he headed toward the master bedroom. The carpet muffled his footsteps and he found himself moving with deliberate care to make no sound. The noise was getting louder as he came down the hall. Whatever Jack was watching definitely didn't sound like anything sports-related. Daniel tried to categorize the noise and suddenly realized he was listening to the sound of two people having sex. Huh. That was odd. He must have arrived during one of the rare times that Jack was watching porn - and het porn at that, since Daniel could hear the higher pitched voice of a woman.

There was something different about the soundtrack, though. He slowed his approach as he puzzled out what felt off about it. There was no background music and the noises seemed more realistic somehow. The man, in particular, sounded familiar. Daniel must have watched this DVD before. The man groaned and it sounded just like Jack. No, wait. Daniel came to a halt just before he would have stepped into the light from the doorway. That _was_ Jack. This was no soundtrack. This was a live performance.

Easing forward enough to peer into the room without disturbing the door, Daniel got a glimpse confirming that Jack was, in fact, one of the two people in that bed. For a moment, Daniel couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe. While his mind was still trying to come to terms with the sight, he was stepping backward down the hall. One step, then two, then three backward steps before he turned and went back to the foyer. 

Taking care to make no noise that might alert Jack, Daniel got his bag, locked the door behind him, and got in the elevator. As he repeatedly jabbed the button for the lobby, part of him wondered why he didn't confront Jack _in flagrante delicto_ , part of him couldn't believe it was real, while another part of him calmly presented facts about shock. 

Tom or maybe Bob raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything when Daniel walked by again minutes after arriving, still holding his bag. From this side, the doors could be pushed open, which was fortunate because Daniel didn't feel like talking to anyone.

Outside, his luck still held. Sal was off to one side extricating a tiny white-haired old woman from the leashes wrapped around her by her two tiny white-haired poodles. The dogs were in constant motion, jumping around, yapping incessantly, and sniffing the topiaries and hedges that lined the drive. Sal had his hands full and his back to Daniel. 

Half in a daze, Daniel turned the opposite way and started down the sidewalk. A few blocks away it dawned on him that he ought to have a destination. Walking around well after dark in an unfamiliar city was not smart at all. 

It took a while, but he managed to flag down one of the few taxis passing by. The front passenger seat was cluttered with loose papers, disconnected electronic boxes with wires trailing out to nowhere, and crumpled fast food bags. The back seat, however, was neat and tidy. The cabbie had unkempt hair and a shaggy beard in shades of yellowish white and gray. Even though it was summer, he wore a long-sleeved flannel shirt in a black and red plaid and denim overalls.

"Where to, pal?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Daniel wanted to get away, put the scene far behind him, as if he could outrun the memory replaying itself in his head. He decided that he wasn't going to hang around where he obviously wasn't wanted. Maybe he could use his return ticket now, even if it meant going standby. 

"Airport, please." 

Instead of putting the car in drive, the cabbie asked shortly, "Which one? National? Dulles? If you want BWI you're shit out of luck. Try a limo service."

"Oh, right. Sorry. National." He was so used to coming into that airport that he had forgotten there were others serving the D.C. metropolitan area. Then again, considering how close they were to National, part of Daniel was annoyed at the driver for not making the logical assumption. 

The cab driver grunted in response, then started the meter and pulled into traffic. Thankfully, he wasn't as garrulous as some drivers Daniel had had. The lack of conversation was just what Daniel wanted. The miasma of stale smoke and body odor that lingered in every cab was stronger in this one. In all his years of traveling Daniel had yet to ride in a cab that didn't have some kind of funk. The smell never bothered him much, since he had spent so much time living among cultures that had no concept of underarm deodorant. Anti-smoking ordinances had put a dent in that particular component of the smell, but it never went away. The yellow nicotine stains in the driver's beard and mustache made him the most likely culprit for the cigarette stink.

As the cab wound through Virginia back to the airport, Daniel couldn't decide if the fact that Jack was screwing a woman made the infidelity more or less painful. For some reason, he also fixated on the fact that it was Thursday, not a typical date night. Who the hell goes out on a Thursday night? Maybe having to work the next morning was why Jack and that woman were in bed before 9:00 p.m. 

Thursday-night sex was for tramps and tarts. Trollops and floozies. Daniel vented his hurt and anger by going through his vocabulary and calling her every linguistic variation of slattern and strumpet that he could think of and felt a vicious sense of satisfaction. 

He knew it was absolutely unreasonable of him to slander her, but he didn't care. He was running off of pure emotion right now and reason didn't enter into it. His anger and hurt needed a target. He needed to lash out at someone, to make someone else hurt the way he had been hurt, and it was easier to fixate on her instead of Jack.

In point of fact, Daniel had no idea who the woman was. She hadn't looked familiar, but then again, it was hard to identify the back of someone's head. Frankly, right now he didn't _want_ to know who she was. He liked her better as an unknown quantity, a blank canvas easily transformed into a painted lady. He wanted to blame her for leading Jack astray.

Eventually, grudgingly, Daniel had to admit that even if that woman had been the ultimate temptress, Jack was also at fault for succumbing to her wicked wiles. Even worse, maybe it had been a mutual seduction with Jack as both tempter and tempted.

Daniel rifled his vocabulary for slanderous epithets for Jack, just as he had done for the woman. Or he tried to, at least. He was in the mood to be vicious but couldn't find the right way to express it. Horn dog and man whore were too new, all slang and faddish, but libertine, cad, and lecher were too old school ( _very_ old school) and lacked the punch, the scathing condemnation, that Daniel was looking for. The concept of female sexuality had a far greater choice of invective versus male sexuality. He wondered briefly if the difference in vocabulary could be attributed to an underlying sexism inherent in the language. 

Before he could get started on languages other than English, the cab driver spoke. 

"Which airline you need?" 

"Anywhere's fine." 

"I gotta know the airline for the terminal, pal." The driver pointed up to the color-coded signs across the highway listing terminals and airlines. 

"Seriously. I don't care. Any terminal will do." Daniel just wanted to get out of the cab, get moving again. The sooner the better. 

Within minutes, they were pulling up to the drop-off zone. Taking him at his word, the driver bypassed the turn for terminal A, muscled the taxi past the scraggly line of waiting vehicles and snagged the first open spot at terminal B, stealing it from a timid driver with an SUV. The airline Daniel had arrived on was at the far end of the drop-off, but he didn't care. Walking there would help bleed off the excess energy he could feel building up. Apparently his fight or flight response had pegged on flight and hadn't abated. 

Daniel tipped the cab driver extra for not talking but didn't tell him that was what the tip was for, which satisfied an odd sense of symmetry. He waved off the curbside baggage handlers then went inside the terminal, shouldering his way through the bustling crowd. The airport was busier than he thought it would be at this time of night. 

Now that he was at the airport, Daniel wasn't so sure he wanted to go back to Colorado. Everyone knew he was spending all four days of downtime in D.C. with Jack. If he did an immediate turnaround, there would be questions from his friends-- well-meaning, concerned, obtrusive questions that he absolutely did not want to answer. 

He slowed to a halt and was immediately bumped by the woman behind him. He tossed her a "sorry!" as she hurried on her way, ignoring him. Taking the hint, he made his way through the foot traffic to a sheltered spot near one of the airline ticket queues.

Well, he could always take another cab and go stay at a hotel somewhere, but if he went out anywhere in D.C., he ran the risk of running into Jack or Paul Davis or someone else that Daniel knew here through Jack. Granted, the chance of that happening in a large metropolitan area like this was highly remote, but he really didn't want to see anyone he knew. On the other hand, sitting in a hotel for a few days wasn't his idea of fun, at least not without the right reference materials and a project to work on. 

As he debated, a large poster on the wall behind the ticket counter caught his eye. It showed an idyllic beach scene with white sand, blue skies, bluer seas, and green palm trees. A white net hammock was slung between the palms. The only part of the occupant that was clearly visible was the hand holding a drink festooned with fruit around the rim of the glass. Big red letters proclaimed "Get Away From It All In Miami!" and gave an extremely low price. 

On impulse, Daniel got in line. Twenty long minutes later, it was his turn at the counter. The ticket agent quickly booked him on the next flight to Miami, which was due to leave within the hour. Because it was a last-minute purchase, the fare cost four times more than the price listed on the poster, but what the hell. There was plenty of room on his credit card. 

By the time he got to the gate, boarding had started and Daniel let the tedious embarkation process absorb his attention. Concentrating on the crowd gathering at the door, now subtly jockeying for position despite assigned seats, was better than thinking about why he was at the airport being jostled by impatient strangers instead of at home with his lover. Well, _ex_ -lover, he amended morosely as he shuffled slowly down the aisle of the plane. Apparently Jack had dumped him, since he certainly hadn't acted like a man with a significant other. 

Daniel pulled a well-thumbed novel from his bag, then stuffed the bag itself into an overhead bin before folding himself into the window seat. Airline seats were not made for someone his height. He had to bend nearly in half just to get to his window seat and his knees always brushed the back of the seat in front of him. Almost everyone was seated, and it looked as if he would have the row to himself until a stout balding man in his late sixties came breezing up the aisle, pushing aside the stragglers and greeting everyone along the way in a naturally loud voice. With a hearty "Looks like we're neighbors--call me Joey," the man wedged himself into the seat next to Daniel, bumping elbows as he fussed with his seat belt. Neatly deflecting Joey's attempts to draw him out during the flight, Daniel redirected the conversation by asking leading questions about Joey's family. 

Joey was on his way from New York to visit his beautiful daughter and wonderful grand-kids and that no-good son-in-law of his. A layover in D.C. for a flight from Miami to New York seemed odd to Daniel given the number of direct flights available but without being asked, Joey was happy to explain that he had stopped in D.C. to spend time with his sister first, giving Daniel a minute by minute rundown of two days spent there. Daniel learned far more than he ever wanted to about golf courses in the D.C. area. 

The sharing didn't stop there. Joey told Daniel an astonishing amount of personal information, definitely delving into TMI with the details of his gall bladder surgery a few months back, as well as a full report of what all of his neighbors in New York were up to, most of which could have been summed up in two words--no good. Joey's non-stop discourse was the perfect distraction from the inside of his own head with the added benefit of actual information including the names of some good hotels and various must-see destinations for his stay in Miami. 

All Daniel had to do was nod and make "I'm listening" noises from time to time. Frankly he was certain the conversation was going to continue whether he encouraged it or not, so he might as well get points for politeness. He wondered briefly if that was how Jack felt when he was on a roll, but quickly shoved all thoughts of Jack to the back of his mind. The incident was too fresh, too painful, for him to think about without breaking down. He hadn't cried in public since he was eight and had no intention of starting now. 

As they disembarked in Miami, Daniel said good-bye to the effusive Joey, who gave him a vigorous handshake, looked him over with a fatherly eye, and said, "Son, whatever it is you're struggling with, just remember that God never closes a door without opening a window." 

Daniel sighed as he watched Joey walk toward baggage claim. It seemed he needed to work on his poker face.

By the time the taxi dropped Daniel off at one of the beach side hotels Joey had recommended, it was nearly 1:00 a.m. Steeped as he was in fatigue and heartache, he found the young desk clerk's chipper air grating. Every perky comment sounded louder in the late night hush. He dredged up one-word answers and the semblance of a polite smile as she checked him in. There was no one else in the lobby or the elevator or the hall. When he finally opened the door to his room, he didn't bother with turning on a lamp, since there was light coming in from the window. Dropping his bag on the floor, he took a moment to draw the curtains, making sure the heavily lined light-blocking drapes were tightly shut. Feeling his way through the resultant darkness, he flopped onto the nearest bed and stared up at a ceiling he couldn't see. 

His eyes were scratchy and his muscles ached. Hell, his _bones_ ached, as though he'd come from a rough mission with lots of running for his life instead of a day of air travel. His stomach hurt, too. Probably a combination of stress and lack of food. Damn airlines charged a bundle for a ticket but didn't have the decency to feed you anymore. He took off his glasses, then set them on the nightstand and rubbed his eyes. Kicking off his shoes, he undid his belt, pulling it free of the loops, and flung it on the floor. He shifted a pillow under his head but didn't bother getting under the covers. 

Exhausted as he was, he couldn't sleep. With nothing else to occupy it, his mind brought up image after image of Jack in bed with that woman. Daniel kept trying to shift it, think of something else, but the more he tried not to think of it, the more it was all he could think of. He could see the clothes draped over the foot board. See the covers pushed down and the pillows stacked up. See Jack reclining, resting on those pillows, his head tipped back and eyes closed to slits. His knees were up and tilted outward as a dark-haired woman rode him, his hands on her hips setting the pace. One of Jack's hands left her hip, and a moment later, she moaned and came down more forcefully. 

That was all Daniel had seen, but it had been enough. Now it kept replaying itself over and over in his head. Some part of him must be a masochist to keep returning to that image, like a dog to a bone. Now that there was enough time and distance between him and the incident, Daniel had calmed enough to wonder about her. Who was she? How long had Jack known her? Was she just some pickup? Or had Jack been cheating on him all along? 

It would be incredibly easy for Jack to live a double life, especially in light of the secrecy that DADT imposed on their relationship. Then again, even if DADT wasn't an issue, it was never a good idea to let your co-workers know you were sleeping with the boss. The secrecy was for Daniel's sake as well as Jack's.

After all these years together--all the arguments as well as all the good times--it was hard to believe that they were done. Finished. Over with. Daniel had actually thought that despite their clashes, they'd be annoying and loving each other until the end of their days. But some transgressions are unforgivable and Daniel had too much self-respect to stay when he'd been made a cuckold. Tormenting himself with the image of Jack betraying him in their bed and asking himself questions he couldn't answer, Daniel tossed and turned until eventually, around five in the morning, he fell asleep.

Daniel slept until early afternoon on Friday then spent the rest of the day moping around in the hotel room. He didn't even open the curtains, but sat in the half-light, brooding. Some time in the late afternoon, his cell phone rang. It was Jack. Just looking at the name on the display made his stomach ice over, his heart beat faster, and his throat close up. He didn't answer, just let it go to voice mail. He couldn't bring himself to listen to the message, to hear that rich low voice. If it was work-related, Jack would have someone from the SGC call next, but the phone was silent. For a while at least. 

This was Friday. A work day for Jack. If things had gone according to plan, they would have made love early in the morning before Jack went to the Pentagon. Daniel would have worked on one of the many extra-curricular projects that was neither urgent nor required, but too intriguing to let go of. Jack would have called at least once during the day, probably to say that he wouldn't be able to meet Daniel for lunch, but he would make up for it by leaving work exactly on time for once so they could have dinner out somewhere. It would be someplace with good steak for them both and beer for Jack and wine for Daniel. Probably at that little place down in Old Town Arlington. The first dinner together was always steak. After that, they might have Thai or Mexican or French or whatever. 

Daniel knew exactly what Jack would order for that first meal, too. Could narrow down his order at a Thai restaurant to one of three dishes. He knew Jack better than anyone did, with the possible exception of his ex-wife. Then again, she knew the old Jack. Daniel was versed in the new Jack. But if Daniel knew Jack so well, how did he not see this coming? The old saying "love is blind" took on a new meaning. Maybe the signs had been there. Signs of Jack's adultery. But Daniel had overlooked them or had refused to see them because he loved Jack so much. 

It wouldn't be easy to walk away. There was so much Daniel would miss about Jack. About their time together. Partner betrayal was the breaking point for many couples. Yet other couples faced this same dilemma and emerged from it stronger. More committed to each other. Did Daniel really want to throw away all those years together? Could he really break it off because of this? Or would that be a case of cutting off his nose to spite his face? Then again, what was the point of trying if Jack had already moved on?

Jack called four more times. One of those times was during room service's second delivery of a double order of waffles with extra syrup, an ice cream sundae and two different kinds of chocolate cake. The bellman gave Daniel an odd look as he let the phone ring. The look got even odder when Daniel asked if it would be possible to get a large bag of tortilla chips and two containers of guacamole. At the sight of Daniel's twenty-dollar bill, the bellman's expression cleared and he smiled and said, "Certainly, sir."

Throughout the evening, Daniel polished off the waffles, the cake, and most of the chips and dip, but barely touched the ice cream. The last time his cell phone rang was about 11:00 p.m. Daniel held the phone in his hand, hovering on the verge of answering. The ringing stopped before he could decide. 

He knew he had to speak to Jack at some point. He should at least find out what the hell Jack had thought he was doing. Jack was the transgressor here, so it should be up to Jack to approach him. Okay, yeah, Jack had tried to call but Daniel just wasn't ready to talk to him yet. It was incumbent upon Jack to keep trying until he _was_ ready. Daniel had to be at work Monday. Familiar places and a familiar routine would help ground him. Maybe once he got home on Monday night, he would call Jack. 

Now that he had an actual course of action planned out, Daniel was ready to explore Miami. Might as well, since he was here. South Beach had some historical sites, too, if Joey was correct. Tomorrow, he'd find out how good his information was. Slightly queasy from his junk food binge, Daniel decided to lie down. To his surprise, he fell asleep right away. 

_~~~~~_

Daniel awoke bright and early Saturday morning. His first cautious foray out of the hotel took him not to the beach across the street, but to a farmers' market a few blocks inland. The market was set up once a week, early Saturday mornings, in an upscale pedestrian mall. According to Joey there was another farmer's market in a slightly different section of the mall on Sunday mornings. While both farmer's markets featured the produce the name conjured up, each had a variety of other goods for sale, too. Supposedly, he could find baked goods, art, books, plants, and more. He had to get there early because the market packed up when the regular stores opened for the day. 

With that in mind, Daniel left the hotel just as the sun peeked over the horizon. The stroll through the nearly deserted streets was calming. The combination of physical exertion and the peaceful atmosphere soothed him. The longer he walked, the more relaxed he became. The market itself was just as Joey had described. A fair number of shoppers had arrived before him, with more trickling in every minute. He roamed the booths, amazed at the variety on display. 

As Daniel idly squeezed a tangelo for ripeness, a dark-haired man about his height but with a slender build saw him and froze. It was only for a split second, but that moment of absolute stillness stood out in such contrast to the bustle of the market place that it immediately drew Daniel's attention. He couldn't tell what the man's eyes were doing behind the sunglasses, but his lips moved. The man may have cursed or said a name but the sound was lost among the throng of shoppers. 

When the man stepped back, blending into the crowd and out of sight, he did it with a fluid ease that suggested Special Forces to Daniel. He scanned the crowd for a glimpse of the man's tailored blue shirt or tan slacks, but came up empty. Checking his surroundings a second time, Daniel didn't see anyone who seemed as if they might be undercover NID or Trust or whatever organization the Trust had morphed into most recently. He didn't have a feeling of being watched, either, but the man obviously recognized him, so it had to be associated with the SGC, didn't it? 

Or maybe...maybe this had nothing to do with the Stargate program. Maybe this was an old acquaintance of his who he had forgotten. Searching his memory, Daniel tried to call up even the faintest bit of recognition or familiarity, but there was nothing. It was as though the man was a stranger to him, yet the man clearly knew Daniel. 

Ever since he had descended, Daniel had worried about this. The process of regaining his memory had been agonizing and there was no way to tell how complete it was. How do you know if something is still missing when you don't remember everything to begin with? Although it had dimmed over time, it was always there in the background: the fear that one day he would run into this exact situation, where someone who knew him--someone he should know--would come up to Daniel and he wouldn't have the slightest recollection of that person at all. 

Try as he might, he couldn't dredge up even the faintest hint of déjà vu regarding the man he had startled. Daniel decided it would be safest to assume the man was an operative of some sort. The incident had made him hyper-aware of his surroundings. He went about his shopping but but kept a weather eye out for anything else unusual. He had already purchased a couple of things so he continued with his shopping. If there was someone watching, he didn't want a change in his actions to tip them off that he was aware of their operative. 

Jack had once talked about the use of multiple teams playing a type of surveillance leapfrog. The lead team would drop back and let the second team close up on the subject. That team would then drop back and the lead team, or possibly a third team, would close up again. That type of surveillance was much harder to spot. There could also be a team in position at a distance, following him with parabolic mics, binoculars, and telephoto camera lenses. If that was the case here, it would be far more difficult to spot a tail but he still had to make the attempt.

Now, he strolled through the stalls, checking out the merchandise as he surreptitiously checked out the other shoppers. He kept his head down as he flipped through the prints at an artist's stall, but his eyes were darting in all directions instead of admiring the art. Every reflective surface he passed was a chance to see behind him, though some surfaces were less useful than others. He lingered at one booth which sold jewelry specifically because of the mirror provided for patrons. The mirror gave a clear view behind him as he looked at the hand-made earrings and necklaces in the showcase. He bought one pair of earrings each for Sam and Vala, tucking them in the bag with his other items, then moved on. 

Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but ordinary people on an ordinary morning. There were no suspicious characters loitering near him. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. Nor did he see any of the same people around him each time. If only it were as easy to spot a spy in real life as it was on television. Unfortunately, there were no conveniently obvious people in trench coats with fedoras pulled down low over their faces lurking in the shadows.

With no sign of surveillance, his paranoia eased down a notch, though he stayed vigilant just in case. Daniel wandered away from the market into the pedestrian mall area. Apparently this had been a regular street lined with shops until at some point the road between the shops had been closed to vehicular traffic. The stores were all dark inside, doors locked, with opening time at least an hour away. He took his time, peeking in windows and checking out the displays, since he had nowhere to go and all day to get there. The farther he strayed from the busy market, the more deserted his surroundings became.

He ambled along, finally relaxing back into the sightseeing mode, when the hair on the back of his neck rose and he got that funny feeling right at the base of his skull. He could swear he was being watched. __

_Spoke too soon_ , he thought, _or maybe I jinxed myself by deciding I was safe_. 

He dawdled in front of a store whose display was a mishmash of Zen gongs, incense, crystals, and, inexplicably, fairies. The interior of the store was very dark, turning the shop windows into decent mirrors. Whoever was tailing him appeared to be well aware of the reflective nature of the windows and stayed out of his angle of sight. Try as he might, he couldn't see anyone. He moseyed past the next store as if he hadn't a care in the world while in truth the first rush of adrenaline was flowing, speeding up his breathing and heart rate. 

He put his foot up on a bench, put the bag down beside it, and re-tied a shoe that had been adequately tied to begin with. Head down, moving only his eyes, he scoped out the area. He thought he saw movement in front of a shop with a recessed doorway, about four stores back. Without any evidence to back it up, Daniel was certain that it was the dark-haired man.

Casually, he straightened, picking up his bag, and strolled up to the next intersection. Once upon a time, this had been a true cross street running between the buildings, but now that it was shut off to vehicular traffic, it was just another passage between the mall and the rest of the neighborhood. The street backing the stores was open to cars, though he couldn't see any moving. 

The second he turned the corner, Daniel abandoned all pretense of idleness, sprinting the length of the building to the main street. He deliberately dropped his bag at the corner where his pursuer would see it and immediately turned again. This time, he came to a dead halt and flattened himself against the wall of the store. Hopefully, the man would take the bait and come out of the walk way on the side where Daniel was waiting for him. If he came out at the other side, closer to the next store, he'd be too far away for Daniel's plan to work. Hurried footsteps echoed down the space between the buildings as his follower tried to catch up.

There was a blur of color and motion as the man ran out of the passageway, passing right next to Daniel, who grabbed at him. Using the man's momentum against him, Daniel braced himself as he put out his hip and a leg in one of the moves that Jack and Teal'c had taught him over the years, and sent the man flying. The man landed with a bone-jarring thud on the pavement, his breath coming out of him with a grunt as his sunglasses went sailing. Daniel immediately went after him to take advantage of any disorientation, but the man was already getting up and he lunged at Daniel. 

The next few minutes were a blur of motion and muscle, of wrestling for holds, of trying to gain dominance and end the encounter. Wiry and nimble, the man was more agile than Daniel's usual sparring partners, but Daniel had him on reach and weight. Some part of Daniel's brain noted that neither of them was going for anything lethal; control and containment seemed to be the mutual objectives. The man was well trained, too, and highly proficient in several varieties of defense, some of which were unfamiliar to Daniel. Then again, Daniel had seen a flash of surprise in the man's eyes when Daniel had countered with a move known only to Jaffa. 

For a brief second, the man had him pinned in an arm lock with his face against the wall, but Daniel was able to break free and spring to one side. Winded, standing just outside grappling range in nearly identical defensive postures, the two of them stared at each other. 

Puffing slightly, the man relaxed his stance a fraction and asked, "Should I believe in ghosts?"

Startled by the question, Daniel answered it. "Among other things, that depends on how you define the term."

"Fair enough." The man's eyes moved constantly, assessing Daniel's face, his hands, and his body as the man considered the answer. Despite his disheveled appearance, there was an elegance to the way he held himself, making the casual clothes seem dressier. Showing Daniel an insincere smile full of pearly white teeth, he asked, "Buy any garish shirts with big girly flowers? Maybe something to match the earrings?" 

The incongruity of small-talk with a stranger who had just tried to wrestle him into submission, even one whose proficiency Jack would admire, kept Daniel off guard and added a whole new level of surrealism to the past two days. It also kept Daniel talking when logically he should be retreating while he could. But his curiosity was piqued. Who was this guy? What did he want? Where did he learn to fight like that? Most importantly, was he affiliated in any way with an organization that wanted to do harm to the Stargate program? Daniel wanted to know more.

"Uh, no, but thank you for asking." Adjusting his glasses, which had thankfully stayed put, Daniel shuffled backward out of arm's reach then took a few steps toward his bag without turning his back to the man. "Is this one of those surveys where you ask me questions about my shopping experience and ways to improve it? Because I have to tell you that I'm going to grade it really low due to over-zealous census takers." 

That got a grin out of the man. "Sorry. It's just..." The grin faded as the words trailed off and his expression became somber. "I thought you were someone I knew."

"And that's how you say hi?" Daniel said doubtfully.

"I thought you might be following me." 

"Following," he repeated flatly. "From in front of you in broad daylight."

"Yeah," The man gave an apologetic shrug. "It made more sense at the time." 

"Wait. You said--Ghosts?" He'd been declared dead more than once. Could this be someone from his past? Someone who had heard through the grapevine that he was deceased but had never gotten the word that he'd returned? It didn't seem likely but it was still possible. "I look like someone you know but didn't expect to see. Is he..."

"Dead." The man looked away for a second. "Yeah." 

_Well_ , thought Daniel, _that still doesn't rule me out._

He hated to push on what was obviously a painful subject, but he had to be sure. "May I ask how long? I mean, when..."

"A few weeks." 

"Okay, that's definitely not me this time." 

The man's eyebrows rose up above the frame of his sunglasses. " _This_ time?" 

Shit. That was supposed to be an internal comment. He must be more rattled than he realized to slip up like that. "Um, yeah. Long story." 

"I've probably heard similar."

"Really?" Daniel was certain that once past the basics of _thought he was dead but he wasn't_ , there were no comparisons to any of his situations, but he asked anyway. "Like what?"

Ignoring the question, the man said, "I noticed you lingered over the tabbouleh at Marti's stall. It's not bad, though I know a restaurant that does it better. It's got great _sabanikhiyat_ , too, and their _samboosak_ is perfection." 

"Beef or lamb?" It had been ages since Daniel had had good Middle Eastern cuisine, and the meat-filled pastries of _samboosak_ were a favorite. 

The man answered in Yemeni-accented Arabic. _"Both. Their tahini is great and so's the yogurt sauce. You really should try the jibne wa labneh as well."_

Without thinking Daniel answered in Arabic, albeit in the Egyptian dialect with which he was most familiar. _"Sounds like a great restaurant. Do you go there often?"  
_  
The man switched back into English. "Enough to have tried most of the menu." He held out his hand. "I'm Michael, by the way." 

"Daniel." 

Michael's grip was firm but not the knuckle-busting clench that some men used to show off or to assert dominance. Daniel could feel calluses on the hand in his, in the same places that Jack had them from using firearms, though Michael's weren't as developed as Jack's. There was a speculative look in Michael's eyes and it was then Daniel realized that the Arabic had been a test of some kind. Apparently Michael wasn't sure what to make of Daniel's response.

At this point Daniel was certain that whatever else might be going on here, this was no Trust operative, though Michael could still pose a danger to him. Maybe it was the crooked smile or the innate charm, but there was something appealing about him. What the hell. Daniel decided to play this out. See where it went. 

"So, counter-surveillance techniques; hand-to-hand combat; fluent in Egyptian Arabic." Michael paused and again that assessing look raked over Daniel. "Are you a Company man? Or are you with another branch of the government?"

Thanks to Jack's position at the Pentagon, Daniel now knew more about what went on in the upper levels of the government beyond the walls of the SGC. Because of that, he heard the capital C clearly where a few years ago he might have missed it, even knowing the euphemism for the CIA from books and films. Judging by his physical prowess and the fluency in Arabic, Michael was probably a spy or some other type of covert operative. Michael's command of Arabic was good enough for him to recognize specific dialects, too. The language specialists that Daniel had met in the military might know that a different dialect was being spoken, but they were rarely able to identify precisely which one the way Michael had. 

"Nope. You?" Daniel tugged his shirt back into place and ran a hand through his hair. 

"Let's just say I'm retired and leave it at that." Michael looked around then picked up his sunglasses, which were a few feet away. "You know, I don't quite believe you. The skills you have are not the kind that you get just anywhere." 

"Civilian consultant," Daniel admitted. "I'd tell you where but..." He trailed off with a shrug.

"But, then you'd have to kill me. And here we were getting along so well." Again, there was that smile, this time with a genuine humor that reached into Michael's blue eyes. 

Daniel chuckled. He found Michael's lighthearted breezy manner very appealing. In a way it reminded him of Jack in one of his goofy moods. Too bad they'd be parting in a minute. 

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Michael slipped his sunglasses on. They looked good on him. 

Daniel blinked. Okay, that was not the brush-off he had been expecting. "Um, no."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I've worked up an appetite." With a couple of judicious adjustments his clothes were all neatly back in place. "I know a caf&eactue that makes the best omelets you ever had. How about it?"

"You want to have breakfast together?"

"Actually, I want to buy you breakfast. It's the least I can do after, you know." Michael indicated the area around them, apparently referring to their skirmish.

Daniel mulled it over. After spending all of yesterday in the hotel room wallowing in self-pity and junk food, he'd been ready for a day out, a diversion from melancholy thoughts about Jack and that woman and the end of longest relationship he'd ever had. Michael was intriguing. Even if Daniel hadn't been looking for distraction, he would have been drawn to Michael. The man was intelligent and good-looking. His conversation so far had hinted at a fascinating life history and Daniel wanted to know more about him. As long as he kept his guard up, he should be safe. 

Daniel asked, "How are their hash browns?"

Recognizing the acceptance in Daniel's question, Michael grinned. "Hash browns are good, but the home fries are better." 

Daniel nodded. "Okay, then. Um, which way?"

"Just a few blocks that way." Michael pointed toward the beach. "You don't mind walking, do you?" 

"Not at all. Lead on."

The caf&eactue turned out to be on the beach side, just a couple of blocks south of Daniel's hotel, and like many of the eateries Daniel had seen down here, it had an outdoor seating area. One side of the street was lined with stores and the other was open to the beach and the ocean. They must have arrived at the tail end of breakfast rush. Half of the wrought iron tables were still occupied and most of the empties needed busing. A busboy, dressed all in black, quickly cleared a table for them under the shade of the awning then headed inside with a full load. 

Michael and Daniel both headed for the chair that backed up to the outer wall of the caf&eactue. For a moment they stood there on opposite sides, each with a hand on the back of the chair, then Michael shifted the square table so that instead of one side aligning parallel with the wall, it sat point-on. Daniel scooted the chairs to match the new position then sat down, tucking his shopping bag under his seat. Michael sat directly to his left instead of across from him. 

While it wasn't as secure, tactically speaking, sharing the corner of the table was a compromise that let each man have the safety of the wall behind him and a view of the street in front of him and the ocean beyond. It was something that Daniel had done with Jack many a time and a little pang went through him at the thought. 

"Hi, welcome to--you guys okay?" The waitress gave them a guarded look as she placed menus on the table. Probably in her mid-twenties, she was slender and pretty with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Like the bus boy, she wore black pants and a black apron, but her top was a cotton t-shirt with a colorful design across the front. 

Daniel looked first at Michael then down at himself. He had given himself a cursory once-over after the fight, as had Michael, but Michael's finger-combed hair looked finger-combed and Daniel suspected his did too. There were dusty smudges on Michael's shirt, and the top button was missing. Daniel's shirt pocket had a tiny rip at the corner and there was a smudge on one shoulder. His cheek hurt a bit from where Michael had pressed him up against the rough brick wall and he wondered if it was scraped. On the quiet walk over here, he had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he hadn't noticed how either of them looked. Judging from Michael's face, he hadn't noticed either. 

Michael gave the waitress the bright grin that Daniel was getting to know so well. "We're good. My friend was under the delusion that the Bucs are better than the Dolphins. I had to set him straight." 

Her expression lightened and she smiled as she shook her head at them. "You guys and your sports." She pulled her pad and pen from her apron pocket. "What can I get you to drink?" 

"Coffee and an ice water for me." Daniel needed caffeine, but after the physical exertion earlier he was also thirsty. 

"Same here." 

The waitress rattled off the specials then left to give them time to decide on their orders. 

"Ordinarily," said Michael, "I wouldn't do this at the table. I hope you don't mind." 

After putting his sunglasses down on the table, he pulled a comb from his back pocket and smoothed his hair back down. Daniel was making a note to himself to start carrying a comb when Michael offered his. As Daniel pulled the comb through his hair, he was struck by the significance of the act.

From pre-historic to modern times, hair had been used as a way to define a people visually, making grooming an important social construct. Certain Native American tribes thought hair was imbued with a person's spirit, thereby giving every aspect of grooming a symbolic meaning. Among the Chinese, hair grooming was sometimes part of the wedding rituals. And in the Spartan warrior culture, mutual grooming signified admiration, respect, and even love as well as an exhortation for strength and bravery in the face of battle. 

He really needed to stop overthinking things. He was sure that as far as Michael was concerned this was nothing more than one man borrowing another's comb. A few quick strokes was all he needed before giving it back without a word. 

The silence between them on the walk here hadn't been tense, exactly, more like wary, but here in this setting amongst all these people, that feeling was starting to ebb. A different waitress, an older woman with short grey hair, delivered their drinks and two napkin-wrapped sets of utensils before hurrying off to deliver the check to a table of four. 

Despite the salt-smell from the sea, the breeze was dry and pushed back the muggy air. It was already hot out and getting hotter, making Daniel glad they were in the shade. Little brown sparrows flitted from the palm trees lining the avenue to hop under the tables scavenging crumbs, though they had competition from pigeons and even the occasional seagull. 

Daniel peeled the paper napkin from his utensils and dipped a corner of it in his ice water. Picking up the spoon, he tried to use it the back of it as a mirror to check out the possible scrape on his cheek. The image was too small and too distorted to be useful. He flipped the spoon to see if the image would be better using the inside of the bowl. Not only was it tiny and misshapen, it was upside down. Huh. He flipped to the back of the spoon--right side up. Flipped to the inside--upside down. He did that a few times, wondering why the reflection did that. He'd have to ask Sam. If she didn't know, she'd soon find out. 

"Having fun?" 

He'd been so engrossed in the phenomenon that Michael's voice startled him. So much for keeping his guard up. He tried to hide his chagrin as he admitted, "I was trying to see if the skin on my cheek is broken and discovered this instead. See for yourself." 

"Sorry about the cheek. You've got a couple of short pink lines, but nothing major and no blood." As he spoke, Michael got his own spoon out and started investigating. 

Working by touch, Daniel dabbed at the scrape with his wet napkin. It didn't really hurt but he wanted to be sure it was clean of debris. 

"It's like having your own private fun house mirror from the carnival," said Michael. 

"Without the hassle of the crowds."

"Or getting the evil eye from carnies." 

They grinned at each other and played with the spoons some more. 

"Do you guys need more time?" 

The young waitress was back again and this time Daniel noticed her name tag. 

"I know what I want," answered Michael. "Do you need more time?"

Daniel picked up the one-page menu. "Go ahead and order. I just need a second." 

"I'll have the omelet with spinach and feta cheese, hash browns and whole wheat toast." 

The waitress wrote quickly, then turned to Daniel, her pencil poised and waiting, but he stared at the menu. Funny how the sight of the word Denver under omelets could make him feel homesick for Colorado when Colorado had never felt like home. _Jack_ was home and Jack had left him. 

"Sir?"

Michael's order sounded good and it was easier and quicker to get the same than to keep everyone waiting.

"Oh, um, make that two, please, Amy." Daniel gave the waitress a warm smile as he said her name, and her perkiness wound up a notch in response. 

"No problem, guys. It'll be about twenty minutes, okay?" She waited just long enough for them to nod, then sped off to greet a new party, leading them inside for seating. 

Traffic, both pedestrian and vehicular, had been steadily increasing. The stores along the avenue were open for business and the beach across from them was filling with people in bathing suits. Daniel and Michael sat in a comfortable silence, indulging in people watching. Every now and then, Daniel thought he could feel Michael's eyes on him, though his peripheral vision confirmed that Michael never faced him directly. 

It had been a long time since Daniel had wandered through an open-air market then sat outside in the heat of the day for a bite to eat. Well, it had been a long time if he didn't count off-world missions and those were disqualified because the team couldn't relax enough to enjoy them. With the weather and the setting, this morning's excursion had been more reminiscent of Cairo than Colorado Springs, though really nothing in the States could compare to the souks, the marketplaces, of the Middle East. 

He expressed his thoughts to Michael, who agreed and added that the U.S. shopping centers usually smelled better. 

"There's a lot of truth there, though I would say that it depends on precisely where you're standing at any given market," countered Daniel. "Stand next to an over-stressed restroom at the Any Mall USA then stand near a vendor of incense or perfume or even food in the souk and the souk will win that round." 

"Point taken." Michael looked at him speculatively. "I'm going to guess--you've been to the souks of Cairo?"

"Among other places."

"Khan El Khalili?" 

"That's not bad. A bit touristy in spots, though. I usually shopped at Al-Gomaa in the Khalifaa district."

"Or souk Al-Harameya as they call it these days." 

"Really? Thieves' market?" Daniel was surprised, but then again, it had been well over a decade since he had been to Egypt. "Is that because of the prices or are there even more stolen goods there than before?"

"Pickpockets. You have to shop with one hand on your wallet." 

"Too bad. I could get everything from groceries to auto parts to specialized tools and more." Daniel had lived in Egypt for months at a time when on various digs. Cairo had been the nearest large city and he had gotten to know it well. 

"Same here, though I often went to Tawfiqiyya instead for fresh produce and bread. Have you been to Fes El-Bali in Morocco?" 

"I've been there but I didn't go to the souk. I have been to Jamaa Al Fna in Marrakesh. They have a large square there with local entertainers. It's really a great way to spend a day, if you've got time on your hands. For me, a lot of the wow-factor has worn off because I've been to such places so often, but trying to explain it to someone who hasn't been is really difficult. It's one of those things that can't be described adequately. There are not enough words to prepare someone for it."

"The crowds. The noise. The smells." Michael acknowledged the earlier comment by adding, "Good and bad." 

"The labyrinthine layout of some souks. It's so easy to get lost in the narrow winding lanes." 

"The jumble of goods for sale - baskets, jewelry, incense, handbags, fish, clothing, electronics, you name it all jammed together, and the inventory always spills out into the lane in front of the shop, cluttering it up and blocking the way."

"Oh yeah, and heaven help you if you aren't in a clear spot when a donkey loaded up with merchandise is being moved through the the crowds." 

_"Barek! Barek!"_ Michael put his hands around his mouth as if shouting as he mimicked the donkey's handler warning people to get out of the way. 

"I never knew it was possible for a donkey to sneak up on someone," said Daniel. "The first time it happened to me in Marrakesh, I swear that the man guiding the donkey purposely waited until the last second then shouted as loudly as he could right behind me. I must have jumped two feet in the air and I knocked over a pile of baskets on the way back down. The shop owner and his son came out to put everything back and I felt so bad that I ended up buying a basket I didn't need at a price I didn't have the heart to haggle down." 

Daniel laughed and Michael joined in. His eyes met Michael's and it seemed to Daniel as if something passed between them. A warmth flushed his skin that had nothing to do with the air temperature. 

"Sounds like you guys are having a good time." Amy smiled at them as she set their food down. 

"Yeah," said Daniel. "Yeah, we are." 

He was both glad of the distraction and sorry that they'd been interrupted. He was suddenly very aware that his knee was brushing Michael's and was dismayed by the thrill that went through him. _Vacillation, thy name is Daniel._ Easing his knee away slowly enough that he hoped it wasn't noticeable, he adjusted his plate unnecessarily as Amy topped off their coffee mugs. 

"If you need anything else, just holler and I'll come running."

"You'll be the first to know," joked Michael. 

It was refreshing to sit in the shade and feel the breeze as they ate. The omelets were as advertised, as were the hash browns. The coffee was surprisingly good as well. They took their time eating, their conversation focused outward. They continued the subject of other places they'd been but carefully focused on the cultural aspects, not the business that had brought them there. Although Daniel mentioned his vocation, Michael did not. 

Apparently, Michael had spent a lot of time living among various tribal peoples in Afghanistan and Algeria as well as other Mid-East countries, plus he had taken a bonus trip to Bosnia. No matter where he was, Michael was observant of the foreign cultures around him and found things to appreciate in each, whether it was food or clothing or a way they had of looking at life. He shared his experiences with Daniel, who offered his stories of Egyptian living, which led him and Daniel into a comparative discussion of Middle Eastern culture in general. Daniel also offered up rigorously censored anecdotes from off-world in which he couldn't even use place names. The entire conversation was fascinating and lasted through several refills of coffee.

At some point Amy had cleared their plates and slid the check onto the tabletop, but she didn't seem to mind them taking up her table. Instead, she kept their mugs full. As they talked, the brunch crowd came and went and the lunch crowd starting filing in. Eventually, the conversation died down and they were out of coffee again, but neither man moved. After their leisurely meal, Daniel was reluctant to part company. There was a definite affinity between them, and Michael's wry sense of humor and deadpan delivery suited Daniel to a T. He and Michael had clicked right away and already Michael felt like an old friend. He might have been fooling himself, but he could swear that Michael felt the same. 

Daniel fiddled with this empty mug. "So...what now?" 

"Now, you're with me today." Michael took out his wallet and tossed enough money on the table to pay the bill and leave a sizable tip--big enough to make up for hogging the table. "That is, of course, if you have the time and if you don't mind?" 

"I don't have any other plans for the day." Daniel thought it over then smiled a little. "I'd like that," he said quietly. 

Michael's car, which was only a few blocks away, turned out to be a solid black, souped-up, older model Dodge Charger. Daniel liked older cars. They had more style to them. More personality. He also appreciated a larger, more powerful engine but he didn't get nearly as worked up over them as Jack did. Jack would have taken one look at the Charger and gone into spasms of muscle-car envy. There might even have been actual drool. Daniel smiled at the thought.

Unfortunately, the lighthearted picture of Jack dissipated as Daniel remembered why he was here in the first place. No matter how much he tried not to, he couldn't help thinking of Jack. Of course, being keenly aware that he was about to get into a car with a stranger was a helpful distraction from the problem of Jack. At least it would have been if it hadn't been Jack's voice he heard in his head from a self-defense lecture years ago. 

_"If the NID ever tries to snatch you, odds are they'll grab you off the street and stuff you into a waiting vehicle. Whatever you do, don't let that happen because once you're in that car, you're screwed. No, I take that back - you're dead. You're dead in that car and there's nothing anyone can do to help you so you fight like hell, fight to the death, not to get in that car. If you're going to die, you might as well die in street where at least I can find your body."_

__Even though his gut was telling him that Michael was safe, Daniel knew that getting into the vehicle with a person he had known for only a few hours wouldn't be his wisest move. He could imagine the grief Jack would give him if he knew, but instead of bringing him to his senses, that imaginary scolding stiffened Daniel's resolve. It was a stupid act of defiance, a symbolic flip of the bird and a hearty _Up yours_ that wouldn't hurt anyone but himself if things went wrong, but he was feeling contrary and spiteful where Jack was concerned.

"Nice car," he said, heading for the passenger door.

Michael was watching him carefully and he wondered how much of his internal debate had shown on his face. 

"It would be fun to drive wouldn't it?" Michael had that look again, that tone, from earlier in the morning which made it seem as if he was waiting for something, expecting a certain reaction, but maybe he was just remembering something that had been significant between him and the person he had lost. The person who had looked like Daniel. 

"You tell me. It's your car," he said blandly. 

Michael didn't reply, but slid into the driver's seat and reached over to unlock the passenger door. Daniel got in, put his bag on the floor in front of his seat, and buckled up. Michael snapped his own belt in place and started the car.

"The closest I've come to owning a muscle car," continued Daniel, "is the second-hand Plymouth Duster I had when I was in college, so you see how pathetic my vehicle history is."

"Did you beef it up?"

"No, I left it as is with a slant-six engine and a one-barrel carburetor. It did have a stick shift-- three speed--but it also had a bench seat. Good thing I have long legs because when the seat was pulled all the way forward, it interfered with the stick shift and you couldn't get the car in gear."

Daniel caught Michael glancing over at his legs as he spoke and if he wasn't mistaken there was an appreciative look in his eyes. He found himself looking Michael over in return--discreetly, of course. He admired the man's physique, but it was hard to imagine who wouldn't. He was tall, slender but extremely fit, and handsome. Michael's movements were sure and confident. He drove with the same level of skill and reflexes as Jack, who was a fighter pilot, though with far less cursing at other drivers. 

Thinking of Jack yet again made Daniel pause. Were the glimpses of Jack he kept seeing in Michael a coincidence or was he looking for similarities? Were they what drew him to Michael? And if they were what drew him in, was it because years of being with Jack had programmed him to desire those specific traits? Or did Michael fit a type that appealed to Daniel in general? As he listened to an amusing story about a broken-down pickup Michael had been stuck with overseas, Daniel decided that it was Michael himself that attracted him since Michael overall had a different outlook on life, a different way of expressing himself, and a different personality than Jack. Daniel relaxed into his seat, anticipating the pleasure of getting to know Michael better. 

As in any metropolitan area, big or small, there were some not-so-nice areas, but Miami was a beautiful city in many respects. With its green palm trees, blue skies, bluer water, and pastel buildings, it was just like the poster Daniel had seen at the airport, only better. Michael was an excellent tour guide, pointing out shops and restaurants that he frequented, pulling over on causeways to show off the views, driving down beat-up barely paved roads to show off little oases of wild green in the middle of the city. Daniel was being treated to a Michael's-eye view of the city and found it fascinating. 

Late in the afternoon, Michael brought him to a beachfront park which supposedly had once been part of a turn-of-the-20th-century plantation owned by two brothers. When they strolled through a section with chess tables set up for the public, it prompted a conversation about chess, and Michael seemed very interested in Daniel's responses. Daniel got the impression he would be a formidable opponent and nearly challenged him to a game. 

As they rambled around the park, Daniel noticed that the image of a cartoon pelican in a janitor's outfit adorned the side of every trash can. He made a joke about "tidy pelicans" that not only fell flat, but had Michael staring intently at him again.

The uncomfortable moment was broken by the ringing of Michael's cell phone. Michael glanced at the incoming number and although he didn't make a face, he didn't seem all that happy about who was calling.

"I need to take this."

Flipping open his phone, Michael stepped a few feet away as a token to privacy, but Daniel could hear every word, starting with the long-suffering tone of the greeting.

"Hi, Mom...Why do you need to know how to clean a gun? Wait. Where did you get--When did he get back? No! Do NOT use kerosene on--" Michael spoke urgently, gesturing sharply with his free hand. "Mom, take the cigarette out of your mouth _right now_ and douse it in the sink. Put away the kerosene and don't touch anything. I'll have Sam come over, okay? Just promise me that you'll stop doing whatever it is you're doing, all right? Yeah. Love you too, Mom."

The name Sam jumped out at Daniel because he associated it with his friend, though he knew that it wasn't his Sam who Michael had meant. Sighing, Michael hung up. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment and rubbed his forehead as though he was getting a headache. 

"Sorry. This'll just take a second." With an apologetic smile, Michael held up his finger to Daniel as he hit a couple of buttons then held the phone to his ear. "Sam! Hey. Apparently Nate is back from wherever it was he disappeared to these past few weeks. He's sound asleep at Mom's right now. And guess what? He brought a gun home. Mom has been trying to clean it with flammable liquids...yeah, no kidding. Would you mind going over there before she wins a Darwin Award? Thanks, Sam. I owe you one." Michael chuckled. "Well, put it on my tab, then. Thanks, man." 

Ah - this Sam was not a Samantha after all. Daniel politely pretended the phone conversation hadn't happened, that Michael didn't have to send a friend to stop his apparently wacky mother from accidentally blowing herself up or setting the house on fire, or maybe both. While he knew kerosene was flammable, he wasn't sure of its explosive properties. Either way, the more Daniel learned about other people's families, the more he realized how fortunate he had been in his foster parents. 

Throughout the day, conversation had drifted from places they had been to some of the adventures they had had while there. The stories they swapped ranged from hilarious to hair-raising and all had been highly censored out of respect for their classified nature, though Michael usually gave city names and countries to place the story in context. Michael had found some ingenious solutions to some very tricky problems, all of which had kept bloodshed to a minimum. Seemed he was a man of Daniel's own convictions in that regard.

Late afternoon blended into evening and they headed for dinner at the Middle Eastern restaurant Michael had recommended that morning. Crammed into the middle of a run-down strip mall between a copier store and a nail salon, it had a cracked faded sign and a redundant name. 

"Kebab On A Stick?" questioned Daniel. 

"Yeah, marketing's not their fort&eactue, but what they lack in imagination they make up for with their culinary skills." 

Inside, the place had worn linoleum floors, about a dozen plain Formica-topped tables that had seen better days, and hard wobbly chairs. The kitchen was clearly visible, separated from the dining area by a counter with a cash register where take-out customers placed orders and picked up their food. Anyone walking in the front door could see straight through to the back door. 

The restaurant was run by three generations of a Pakistani family. The grandfather held sway in the kitchen, overseeing every dish made by his two middle-aged sons. Three grandsons made up the rest of the staff: a busboy who didn't look old enough for high school and two college-age waiters.

The place was packed, with only two tables open. Michael headed for the one in the corner that had a panoramic view of the restaurant including the front and back doors. As they had that morning, he and Daniel sat on adjacent sides of the table. Their waiter, a pleasant-faced young man with black jeans and a striped grey and white t-shirt with the word "Hollister" across the chest, quickly brought them water, silverware, and menus, then hurried off to ring up a take-out order for a customer waiting at the counter. 

The menu had dishes from all over the Middle East and was heavily slanted toward Turkish cuisine. They decided to split an order of _kashteh bademjan_ , an eggplant puree flavored with garlic, yogurt, mint, and fried onions. Michael ordered the _khorest e' fessenjan_ which was chickent in a pomegranate and walnut sauce while Daniel decided on the _etli kuru fasulye_ , a white bean stew with soft, succulent cubes of lamb meat in a tomato-based broth. 

While they waited for their food, Daniel ruminated on the clothing choices of the family running the place. The grandfather was in full traditional Pakistani garb, from the long tunic of the kurta with a sleeveless achkan over it and churidar pants. His two sons wore the kurta but not the achkan and wore chinos in place of the churidars. The grandsons were all in jeans and t-shirts.

He theorized that the generational differences in clothing represented the level of assimilation of each individual to a new country, but it could just have been pure chance as to what each man had put on that morning. Daniel was tempted to initiate small talk with their waiter in hopes of conducting a subtle interview to test his theory, but the restaurant was far too busy to take up the young man's time. 

Instead, he turned it into a topic of conversation, which turned out to be a good one. Michael had spent time in native garb throughout the Middle East, particularly in Afghanistan. Like Daniel, he appreciated the sun protection that the clothing provided. 

"I spent over a year living with," Daniel paused, to find the proper way to describe his time on Abydos without giving any details, "a very remote tribal community that lived at a basic level with no access to technology. The native dress is similar to a djellaba or a long kurta with loose pants, more like the shalwar than the churidar. For extra protection from sand storms or in the chill of the desert night, we added robes and a head scarf. I found the outfit to be very comfortable." 

Michael didn't respond right away but studied Daniel thoughtfully for a moment. "You can't even tell me which country you were in, can you?" 

"Sorry, no."

"You're even more classified than I am, aren't you?" Although phrased as a question, Michael's intonation made it a statement of face. 

"Probably," conceded Daniel even though he knew the true answer was _very much so_. 

Michael's cell phone rang then and Daniel heard one side of a brief call from Michael's friend Sam reporting that all was well with Michael's mom. As Michael hung up, the waiter came over with their food. After that they spent more time eating than talking. 

Michael was right--what the restaurant lacked in ambiance it made up for with the fare. Daniel's dinner was more soup than stew, but tasty nonetheless, especially when the broth was sopped up with fresh pita bread. Daniel savored every bite of his meal, wishing Colorado Springs had a place this good. 

After dinner, they headed for Daniel's hotel. Daniel didn't have to give directions, which was fortunate since he had no idea where he was. All Michael needed was the name of the hotel and he guided the car unerringly through the city. In the privacy of the vehicle, they traded stories about the quality of the different jails, prisons, and holding cells they'd each been in. 

Daniel's mood had darkened with the setting of the sun. After a day of good company and conversation, tasty food and sharing stories, Daniel didn't want to face another night alone in the hotel. Another night replaying the memory of Jack in their bed screwing some woman. For a few hours, he had managed to forget what he was running from, but now the hurt and the loneliness were edging back in. 

As Michael pulled the car up to the main entrance to drop him off, Daniel put his hand on the door latch, then hesitated. He found himself reluctant to part ways with Michael.

Taking his hand off of the latch, knowing full well what he was implying, Daniel nervously asked, "Would you like to come up to my room?" 

There was a moment of charged silence as Michael stared at him. The light from the streetlamp splashed across the lower half of Michael's face to his chest, leaving his eyes in shadow. Daniel wasn't sure if he was surprised or thinking it over or both. 

"Yeah," Michael said softly. "I'd like that." 

Michael eased the car away from the curb. Half a block down the street, he found a parking place. Daniel nearly forgot the bag with his purchases from the market that morning and they had to backtrack half a block to get it. For the public walk to Daniel's room, they switched subjects from prisons to the beauty of Miami at night. 

The closer to his hotel they got, the more the pit of Daniel's stomach began to tense, and he started feeling antsy from a discordant mix of anticipation, excitement, and anxiety. In a way, it was like earlier when he had gotten into the vehicle with Michael. He knew this wasn't the smartest thing to do but instead of listening to reason, he was going to listen to his body, which was attracted to Michael, and his heart, which was hurting from Jack's actions. Squashing every doubtful thought as it popped up, he stubbornly bulled ahead. He didn't even have a plan of action in mind, just a vague idea of spending some time watching TV together while he got up the nerve to make a move. Once at his room, it took three swipes with the key card to get the lock to open.

As Daniel flicked on the lights, Michael shut the door behind them. "Out of curiosity, do you routinely carry a weapon?" 

He walked over to the window, dropping his bag on the desk along the way, then shut the curtains against the lights of Miami at night. "I do, but I rarely use it. It's a last resort at best." 

"Good. Guns make you stupid." 

_Tell that to Jack,_ thought Daniel. _Ordnance gets him as hard as I do. Harder, maybe._

"Besides, there are a lot of situations where a weapon isn't feasible. You'd be amazed at what you can do with a roll of duct tape and some basic chemistry." Michael gave a jaunty smile. 

Still lost in thoughts of Jack, Daniel didn't answer but stared at the ugly hotel carpet. Michael put a hand on Daniel's shoulder to get his attention, and then kissed him. It was a brazen move but Daniel had felt the underlying hesitation, as though Michael had been trying to cover uncertainty with bravado. 

Daniel stilled the automatic _I'm sorry, but I'm with someone_ before his mouth had even begun to shape the words. In his mind he saw Jack in bed with that woman and thought _Fuck it. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander_. After a brief moment of being sidetracked by the possible etymology of an axiom that didn't account for a surfeit of ganders, Daniel took Michael's face in his hands and kissed him back. 

It felt odd to be leaning ever-so-slightly down instead of ever-so-slightly up. The hand inching its way inside Daniel's shirt was less callused than he was used to and as his hand slipped up under Michael's shirt, the torso that Daniel was getting acquainted with was all wrong. It should have been broader and hairy instead of wiry and smooth. The hips were too narrow and lined up with Daniel's at a different level.

It had been years since he had had sex with anyone but Jack, and for a moment he panicked about how his technique would compare to that of other partners Michael had had. He didn't know what Michael liked, either, and what if he misread the unfamiliar response signals? What if Michael liked something he didn't? Or worse, what if he liked something that Michael found repulsive? For the first time ever, he felt performance anxiety creeping up. But a penis was a penis, right? Each operated under the same basic principles - push here, pull there, and hey presto! One orgasm as requested. He could do this. 

Daniel slid his hand down the front of Michael's pants. Michael was already hard and Daniel was catching up. The wet sound of their mouths moving together was joined by the clink of belt buckles, the hush of zippers, and the rustle of pants and underwear being shoved down out of the way. 

Daniel palmed Michael's penis, rubbing the shaft with the heel of his hand as his fingers cupped the balls. His hips jerked as Michael reciprocated, and Daniel had to force himself not to shy away from the touch of a strange hand on his genitals. Monogamous by nature, Daniel was accustomed to one partner at a time. Even though he had initiated this, wanted this, the long years of his relationship had conditioned him to respond only to Jack. The break with Jack was too recent, too raw, for him to disregard it without considerable effort. 

Michael's cock was about the same length as Jack's but fatter. His sac looked as hairless as his chest had felt and Daniel wondered if it was naturally that way or the result of waxing. Even though he was holding the man's penis in his bare hand, the question felt too personal to ask, and that brought home to Daniel just how fucked up this was. He refused to heed the inner whisperings and stubbornly continued partly in order to spite Jack, who didn't even know what he was doing, but mostly because he did want this. After his initial freakout, he found himself even more turned on than he had expected. 

Kicking off his shoes and out of his pants, Daniel steered Michael toward the bed, unbuttoning Michael's shirt along the way, anxious to get a look at the chest his fingers had already explored. His own shirt was already open and he shrugged out of it as Michael dropped his shirt to the floor and toed out of his shoes. Daniel pushed Michael's pants and underwear down at one go and Michael kicked them all the way off. Daniel guided Michael until he was sitting on the end of the bed, then knelt on the floor between Michael's spread knees, the way he was used to doing with Jack. 

Jack's groin was hairier, but Michael's was more fragrant. Daniel held the shaft with the tips of his fingers and thumb as though it was a fine cigar. He leaned in, getting his face as close as he could without making contact, and inhaled. The scent made his own erection firm up. Michael's skin didn't have a trace of the olive coloring that darkened Jack's skin so readily. Michael's skin was fair, though his cock was darker than the rest of him and his balls were a shade darker yet. Jack was essentially the same color everywhere. 

Daniel tried to shut off his brain, stop the automatic cataloging of the differences between the body he was touching and the body his heart wanted. It seemed not only ill-mannered but unfair to his sexual partner. Making an effort to concentrate on Michael, he looked up to make eye contact. 

Michael was studying Daniel's face, taking in his every expression. Daniel couldn't tell if Michael had found what he was looking for, but from the searching quality of the look, he thought Michael hadn't. It made Daniel feel exposed and he closed his eyes. The vague feeling of guilt over constantly comparing Jack to Michael dissipated. Daniel wasn't the only one making love to someone who wasn't in the room. Somehow, that understanding flipped a switch in his head. Instead of perceiving the differences between Michael and Jack as error messages, his body classified them as new and exciting stimuli. 

Eyes still closed, Daniel rubbed his cheek along the shaft until the head brushed against his lips. Running his tongue over his lips to wet them, he held the head of Michael's cock to his mouth. It tasted the way it smelled and it made his mouth water. Rubbing lightly, he traced the contours with his lips--smoothly over the crown, dipping into the slit, following the ridge of flesh that ringed it. 

Above him, Michael groaned and put his hands on Daniel's shoulders. It seemed as though he was urging Daniel upward, but Daniel had barely gotten started so he wasn't sure if he was reading the signal right. 

Disengaging, Daniel sat back on his heels. "I'm sorry. Did you not want..." 

"No, that was fine. You were fine," Michael assured him. With the pad of his right index finger, he traced the curve of Daniel's eyebrow, down his nose and across his cheekbone. "I just...I just need to see you. To see your face. Come up here." He patted the bedspread as he scooted back to the center of the bed. He lay on his side with his head propped up on one hand. 

Daniel followed, walking on his knees across the mattress, then lay on his back next to Michael. He felt awkward and the antithesis of sexy as he clambered over the bed, but Michael seemed to like what he saw, since he was smiling at Daniel. 

"Do you mind if I..." Michael's free hand hovered over Daniel's face. 

Oh. Right. His glasses. "Sorry, I forgot about them." 

Glasses had long since ceased to be an issue with Jack. If Daniel forgot to remove them, then Jack did. It wasn't something that had to be noted or discussed, it just happened without thinking. Daniel moved his hand, but Michael got there first, carefully plucking the glasses from Daniel's face. One-handed, Michael folded them, rolling away to set them on the nightstand behind him, then rolling back to look at Daniel, who was feeling self-conscious again, so he closed his eyes. 

Michael brushed the hair back from Daniel's forehead, resting his palm on Daniel's cheek then letting his hand slide down the side of Daniel's face. With his hand still cupping Daniel's face, Michael softly pressed his lips to Daniel's lips, then to Daniel's eyelids, and the tip of his nose. The mattress dipped as Michael shifted his weight. The gentle kisses continued, outlining Daniel's jaw line, then nuzzling up under his chin. 

Michael's hand slid from its perch on Daniel's face, floating over the contours of his body, pausing to circle a nipple until it hardened or trace a scar. Michael spent some time on the right side of Daniel's chest below the nipple. Touching the unblemished skin with fingers and lips and tongue, Michael followed the path of each rib from sternum over the curve toward the spine and back again. The action seemed significant somehow, but Daniel couldn't grasp what it might be. As erogenous zones went, that wasn't an area Daniel had ever heard referenced, but the petting helped him relax and made him feel much more comfortable with what they were doing. 

There was a hunger, a reverence, in every kiss. Every touch. Daniel felt the love and longing emanating from Michael and wondered who he was envisioning in Daniel's place. Daniel thought he should be miffed that this wasn't truly directed at him, but he didn't. Instead he felt worshipped. Desired. Loved. And even if it was displaced emotion, it was what Daniel needed right now and he gladly accepted it. 

Michael continued his downward exploration, settling himself between Daniel's legs. Daniel spread his knees wider, going frog-legged to accommodate him. For a moment, nothing happened, but Daniel could feel Michael's breath, warm and damp, stirring his pubic hair. When Michael's tongue dabbed at the head of his cock, Daniel whimpered. When Michael's lips slid over his cock, taking it deep into his mouth, as his hand closed over the base of the shaft, Daniel arched his back and gasped. 

That same sense of adoration and need was still evident as Michael made love to Daniel's package. Wave after wave of sensation rolled through Daniel. There was a warm buzzing feeling pulsing from his cock to his ass and he could feel his thighs trembling. Daniel tried to tell Michael that he was on the edge of orgasm, but he couldn't do more than pant out something that was half gibberish and completely unintelligible. 

Luckily, Michael got the hint. He moved back up Daniel's body, putting a hand between them to get their cocks arranged, then lowered himself hips first onto Daniel, thrusting into his groin. Daniel wrapped his legs around Michael, moving in tandem with the rhythm Michael set. Michael's hands ran up Daniel's flanks and under his shoulders so that he could keep the weight of his upper body on his elbows. 

"Open your eyes. Please. I want to see your eyes." 

Daniel opened his eyes. Michael's face was inches away, his wet lips swollen from sucking Daniel. While thumbing Michael's nipples, Daniel did a half-crunch, raising himself up enough to taste himself on those lips before dropping back to the pillows. Daniel held Michael's gaze as long as he could. Then the buzzing in his groin hit critical mass, amping up in intensity and expanding to encompass his whole body. Daniel threw his head back, eyes closed, and his hips pumped wildly as he came. 

With a shuddering groan, Michael followed him into orgasm moments later, biting his lip and stretching his neck up so that he faced the ceiling. Then he slumped against Daniel so that their chests touched, and pressed his face against Daniel's head. They lay there quivering while the aftershocks eased and then Michael slid off of him onto the mattress so that they were side by side, on their backs with their arms touching in the center of the bed. 

Now that it was far too late, Daniel realized they should have used condoms for all of this. He had been in a committed relationship for so long, moreover a relationship in which both partners' jobs had required constant rigorous medical tests, that he hadn't had to think about condoms in years. 

The fleeting pleasure of physical release was hollow. Seven years of loyalty and devotion had left an imprint that couldn't be shaken off that easily. At least, not for him, though Jack didn't seem to have a problem. Remorse rushed in, leaving Daniel feeling more bereft than ever, with an added undertone of sordid. 

So, this was what a revenge fuck felt like. Well, revenge sex at any rate, since technically they hadn't fucked. Overall, thought Daniel, it was pretty unsatisfying, even though he enjoyed Michael's company. Daniel wondered if Jack had enjoyed his romp with Little Miss Who The Fuck Cares, or if he had been beset by a feeling of wrongness as Daniel had. Then again, Daniel had no idea what Jack's motivation had been so there was no way to tell what he had felt or why. For Daniel, this first time would be his last until he sorted things out with Jack. 

Beside him, Michael's breathing had slowed down, but there was a hitch to his breath that made Daniel turn his head. Michael was staring at the ceiling and even in profile it was obvious that his eyes were watering. He inhaled sharply, closing his mouth. The muscle of his jaw clenched and released twice before he spoke. His voice was strained.

"If things had been different, your name would be Victor."

Daniel hadn't expected Michael to admit what he had been doing, to make himself vulnerable on such a deeply personal level. Somehow, Michael's confession and the concomitant willingness to bare his inner soul seemed far more intimate to Daniel than their sexual encounter had been. His perception skewed again as he re-discovered the emotional connection he'd been missing. There was nothing sordid or cheap here. This was two lost lonely people in need of comfort and finding it in each other. This was good. 

"If things had been different, I wouldn't be here." 

Like Michael, Daniel told the truth, though he couldn't quite bring himself to blurt out all the personally shattering details of a depressingly ordinary infidelity. 

Michael nodded once, to show he had heard, then put his arm over his face, covering his eyes. His chin quivered as he held his breath. 

Daniel didn't know what to say, so he reached out, rolling onto his side to tug at Michael's far shoulder, pulling him up onto his side as well. Michael tucked his face into Daniel's neck as Daniel tossed his leg over Michael's and put his arm around the man, aligning his forearm with Michael's spine. Daniel rubbed his fingers softly, soothingly, along Michael's neck, though he wasn't sure which of them he was trying to comfort. 

_~~~_

Daniel woke to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He was lying on his side, naked, facing the window. The heavy drapes kept the room dark, but his internal clock told him it was later than he usually slept. In a way, he was glad that Michael had already gotten out of bed, since it gave him time to think before he had to face the man.

Daniel had never had a one-night stand before, so he wasn’t sure of the rules for the morning after. Then again, what he and Michael had shared didn’t seem to fit the criteria. They had spent a full day together, bonding and becoming closer, before they had gotten physical. There was the added complication of the issues each was struggling with. Daniel was running away from someone whereas Michael may have been trying to re-create someone. Which was the overriding paradigm for their interaction? Were the relating to each other primarily as who they actually were or was each of them relating through the issue he had? 

Daniel reviewed pertinent moments from the prior day and finally concluded that although his resemblance to Vincent—no, Victor, that was it—his resemblance to Victor was definitely a strong secondary factor, Michael was reacting to Daniel for the most part. The same could be said of Daniel. While he had certainly been affected by the events with Jack, it was Michael himself that he had connected with. 

In fact, he wouldn’t mind spending more time with Michael before he left for the SGC. He could easily picture the two of them as friends, albeit friends _without_ benefits. Daniel was thinking more clearly this morning than he had in days, now that the shock and hysterics had faded away. He would make it clear in the nicest possible way that he’d like to stay in touch with Michael, but what happened the night before couldn’t ever happen again. Then later tonight, he’d set aside some time alone to call Jack and confront him as he should have instead of retreating down that condo hallway.

The shower stopped. Shit. He hadn’t had time to come up with a suitable speech for Michael. If he jumped right into the shower when Michael left the bathroom, that would give him a few more minutes to think. He got out of bed, stepped over a jumble of discarded clothes from the night before, and went straight to his suitcase to get a change of clothes to bring with him into the bathroom. He had just picked up a clean pair of briefs when the bathroom door opened. He didn’t bother fishing for the rest of his clothes but clutched the briefs to cover his crotch. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

They stood there looking at each other for a minute. Michael seemed as tongue-tied as he was. He stepped toward the bathroom as Michael stepped out of the doorway. As they passed each other, Daniel saw that Michael was wearing his boxers from the day before turned inside out. 

“I’m just…gonna…” Daniel nodded at the bathroom as he walked in. 

“Okay.” 

Daniel shut the door. Setting his underpants on the counter, he used the toilet then turned on the shower. Apprehension over needing to talk put him on edge and he found himself moving far too quickly. He was done with his shower before he had a specific carefully organized speech. He toweled dry, pulled on the briefs and figured he could wing it. 

Although his shower had been quick, he thought Michael would have had enough time to dress. He was probably sitting on the end of the bed, curtains open, TV on and remote in hand. It would be a tad awkward to have that talk with Michael fully clothed and him in his tighty-whities. Maybe he should wait and do it over breakfast. Not that was procrastinating or anything--that would give him the time he needed to do it right, the way Michael deserved. He opened the door and realized he’d need a different plan. 

The drapes were closed, the television was dark, and Michael was dressed only in his boxers. He sat on the side of the bed holding Daniel's glasses in the palm of his hand, the nose piece pinched between the thumb and forefinger. Speaking in a low monotone, head down as if addressing the glasses, he said, "He wore them sometimes. Glasses. Looked kind of like these, too. I never knew if he needed them or if they were part of the outfit. Part of his cover." 

Moving slowly as if Michael might startle, Daniel sat on Michael's right, their bodies touching from knee to hip. He kept his voice quiet and gentle. "I need them for astigmatism. My distance vision is perfect once that's corrected." He slid his hand under Michael's, holding it as it held the glasses. "On a dig or off-wor--um, off in primitive conditions, glasses are easier to use than contacts."

His hand shifted from cupping Michael's hand to carefully removing the glasses from his grip. He put them on and Michael finally focused on his face. 

"I'm not sure we've met." He held out his hand. "I'm Daniel." 

With a wry smile, Michael shook it. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Daniel, and I mean that in more ways than one." 

The hand shake turned into a hand clasp. Daniel slipped his left arm around Michael, ran his hand from Michael's hip, up his back, palmed over his far shoulder. It was an awkward hug, with the twist in his lower back, Michael's body perpendicular to his, and their clasped hands resting in Michael's lap, but he could feel how much the other man needed this. Needed consolation. He kissed Michael on the temple, a slow chaste press of lips against the fragile bone at the edge of the hairline. Disengaging his hand from Michael's, Daniel wrapped both arms around the man and pulled him into a comforting embrace. His hand cradled the side of Michael's face as he gently settled Michael's head on his shoulder, letting his cheek rest against the top of Michael's head.

They sat that way for a few minutes, each lost in thought, listening to the metronome drip of the showerhead draining the last of the water from Daniel's shower. Michael took a deep breath and pulled away from Daniel, rising to his feet. Daniel stood as well. There was a look on Michael's face that could have been embarrassment, could have been uncertainty. 

"I'm sorry if I made you feel...I mean, I wasn't with you just because--"

Daniel's fingertips alighted on Michael's lips, stopping the words. "I know what it's like to lose someone." His fingers slid away, drifted over Michael's jaw and down his neck to his shoulder. "And you aren't the only one here with issues. There's someone I need to talk to. I'd like to spend more time with you before I leave but last night--"

"Last night was a one time thing. I understand." 

Michael brought his hand up to squeeze Daniel's and the two men stepped apart. Having everything out in the open was freeing. As they dressed, they discussed possible plans for the day. 

"Yesterday, we passed a sign for Kampong Gardens. That sounded interesting."

"The gardens there are beautiful--full of tropical plants. I've only been once, but I wouldn't mind going again. Kampong is the Javanese for village, by the way." 

Daniel stopped in the middle of buttoning his shirt. Yesterday he'd learned that in addition to the Arabic, Michael was fluent in Russian and now this. "You speak Malay?" 

Michael grinned playfully. "No, but I can read a brochure in English." 

"Funny." Daniel snorted and finished dressing. Fluent in smart-ass, too. "That place we had breakfast yesterday--that's nearby, right?" 

"Yeah. Just a couple of blocks."

"Let's eat there. My treat this time." 

When they arrived at the caf&eactue, the outdoor seating was unoccupied with the exception of a young couple near the door and someone obscured by a newspaper held open like a sail at the table next to the one they had sat at the day before. That table was still in the position they had left it and they automatically headed toward it. 

As Daniel put his hand on a chair, the man at the next table folded the newspaper into neat quarters and set it down next to his silverware. 

"Good morning." 

Shocked, Daniel's head whipped around at the familiar voice. "Jack?" 

This morning, Jack looked cool and composed in an open necked shirt, jeans, and loafers, very different from the debauched man of a few days ago. The sight of him, sitting there in the flesh, brought a rush of emotion. The hurt and anger were as strong as the night he had stood in the hallway looking through the bedroom door, an unintentional voyeur. But under that, running much more deeply, was love and a yearning to touch Jack, to hold him. _This is who I want. This is who I should be with_. He nearly stepped forward to greet Jack with a hand to the shoulder or a lingering handshake and his body jerked slightly as he squashed the reflexive movement. He wasn't sure how to act, what action Jack was contemplating. 

"Daniel." Jack nodded toward Michael. "I see you've made a new friend." 

There was a faint emphasis to the last two words, a narrowing of Jack's eyes, a subtle curl to his lip. Despite his shower, Daniel was convinced that the scent of sex lingered and Jack could smell Michael all over him. 

"I take it that's your someone," murmured Michael. 

Michael was watching Jack intently, assessing the situation. Shifting his weight, he subtly positioned himself so that if anything physical started, he could jump in on Daniel's side. Daniel saw Jack register the body English and change position slightly in response. Now, Jack could stand in one smooth motion without the table getting in the way. His right hand rested on the table, fingers lying loosely across the hilt of the table knife. As dull as it was, Jack knew how to put the blade to very good use if he chose to. Daniel could see Michael revise his assessment of Jack and tip his weight onto the balls of his feet, ready to move instantly into any direction. It was reminiscent of countless missions Daniel had spent watching Jack square off with anyone he perceived as an enemy. Hopefully, this wouldn't end as badly as had some of those missions.

Jack didn't acknowledge Michael but spoke directly to Daniel. "Imagine my surprise when the doorman asked me how you were enjoying your visit." 

"Imagine _my_ surprise when I ..." Daniel clamped his mouth shut, keenly aware of the public venue. Pissed or not, he would never risk outing Jack with a public slanging match about their love life. "So, how'd you find me? Set your intelligence department on me?" 

Jack rolled his eyes. "Hardly. You used your credit card for the plane ticket and the hotel. Could you _be_ more obvious? 

Eyebrows raised, Michael looked at him in disbelief. "You used your own credit card?" 

With a huff of annoyance, Daniel dismissed Michael's comment. "I wasn't trying to hide, you know, I just didn't think it would be that easy to find me."

"I've got your user name and password to access your card online, remember? It took five minutes to find you by checking out recent charges and three minutes of that was spent booting up the PC and getting online." Jack stood, getting out his wallet. He tossed a bill on the table and tucked the wallet away. "What say you and I go for a stroll on the beach?" 

"What--"

"Now, Daniel." 

Without a backward glance, Jack strode off. The assumption that he would follow as ordered galled Daniel, even as he prepared to do so. 

"I've got to..." Daniel pointed at Jack, who was heading toward the beach. 

"You going to be all right?" 

"Oh yeah." 

"Okay. I can wait here, just in case...of...whatever." Michael sat down at their table. 

"Thanks. I'll, uh, I'll be back, I'm just not sure how long." 

Daniel caught up with Jack on the other side of the street. They dodged a bikini-clad young woman speeding down the sidewalk on roller skates, then crossed the swath of grass onto the beach itself. Dozens of people were there taking advantage of the beautiful weather. 

"Trying to work on your tan?" What could have been a joking comment was snide instead.

Jack kept moving at a brisk pace toward the water. "Nope. Just prefer to do this in private."

When they reached the hard packed sand where the waves ran up the shore, Jack turned left and continued walking along the shore with the ocean on their right. Birds with grey and white plumage ambled through the wavelets. Smaller brown birds with white spots skittered away from each wavelet as it crested the shore then ran after it as it receded back into the ocean. Their little legs moved so quickly that they looked like clockwork toys.

As Daniel watched a flock of pelicans flying in a tidy single-file line past them, he realized that he was still waiting for Jack to start talking, but Jack was staring straight ahead and didn't seem inclined to slow his pace. Daniel decided to take over. 

"So, is this the part where you try justify what, or should I say _who_ , you were doing?" 

With a grimace, Jack finally dropped his pace to a slow walk. "She's a nice lady, Daniel. It was a one-off kind of thing. It wasn't about wanting sex so much as needing comfort. She was feeling down and after your call this weekend, my self-esteem was in the toilet. Her rental car got rear-ended by a guy who took off. I stopped to help her and she burst into tears." 

"I hope you bought her dinner before you slept with her," Daniel sniped. "A good fuck should at least be worth the price of a meal." 

"I did." Jack ignored the gibe. His unrelenting calm aggravated Daniel. "Her name's Marcia. She was on her way back to her hotel after attending her mother's funeral. She's got no husband, no children, no other family. She had barely eaten after she'd gotten word of her mother's death. I took her to dinner, got her calmed down while the rental agency sorted out the mess with car. We spent the night together and in the morning, I took her to the airport. Made sure she got on her plane safely." 

It didn't take a genius to see the parallels between Jack's encounter with Marcia and his own with Michael. That didn't mean Daniel was willing to give up his status as the wronged party, though. He'd return to that subject but first there was something he had to know. 

“How the hell did you get to the café ahead of us?” 

“Would you believe I’m just that good?”

“Actually, yes.” 

“Thanks for the compliment. The truth is, that’s the only place open within two blocks of your hotel. I was sitting there trying to get the nerve to go knock on your door.” 

"My door? How did you get the room number? I didn't think that showed up on a credit card billing."

“It doesn't. I spotted you two going in the front door of the hotel last night as my cab was coming down the street. Followed you up." Jack stopped and turned to make eye contact. "It’s amazing how flimsy those room doors are. You can hear everything just by pressing your ear against them." 

Daniel was mortified. “I can’t believe you listened!”

“Imagine how you’d feel if someone had gotten an eyeful,” Jack said pointedly. “Did you fuck him?”

“What?”

“Did. You. Fuck. Him.” 

“No.” 

“Did he fuck you?” 

“No.”

“But you did have sex.”

Daniel nodded, his face hot from a heavy blush. Somehow it was easier when the shoe was on the other foot, when he was the one full of righteous indignation demanding details. 

"What's his name?"

"Michael--" Daniel stopped abruptly. 

He'd never gotten Michael's last name. They had spent all day talking then fallen into bed together and he had no idea what Michael's full name was. The heat on his face intensified and spread to his throat and chest. 

Understanding dawned on Jack's face. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," he spit out. "Jesus _fuck_ , Daniel." He was somewhere beyond furious. "Some random stranger? Since when you have you ever done casual? Or is this just the first time you got caught with a pick up?" 

"Oh, and yours wasn't? You met her and banged her within hours." 

"Hey! At least I know her first _and_ last name. I know about her family, where she works, and where she lives. I know she's got a cat named Mister Puddy, for Christ's sake. What the hell do you know about this guy, huh? He's military, that was obvious even from a distance last night, so I figured you must have met him through the program somehow, already knew him, but you have no idea who he is, do you?"

Anger overtook embarrassment and Daniel matched him tone for tone. "Don't you _dare_ judge me, Jack. _You're_ the one who started all this."

"Oh, and breaking up with me on the phone a week ago doesn't count? You don't want me, you don't want anyone else to have me, but you feel free to go wandering off with the first good-looking stranger you meet?"

_"You're_ the one who couldn't keep his dick in his pants. _You're_ the one who cheated, not me! You want to make this _my_ fault? What, I'm not allowed to express frustration to my partner? All I did was tell you about my bad day and suddenly, you're out fucking around and blaming me for venting? "

" _Bullshit_! Bull- _fucking_ -shit! You don't just vent--you make it _personal_ and I'm your target. I put up with you tearing into me for things that aren't under my control. You can be vicious when you're on a roll and I'm tired of being your God damn whipping boy. And, by the way, _you_ broke up with _me_. Remember that? Or are you conveniently forgetting that part? You very clearly said, and believe me the words are seared into my brain, 'I've had it with this long distance crap. I'm calling it off, Jack. We're done.' So get off your fucking high horse about who cheated on who here. Can't cheat when you're single and per your own words, I was a free man."

Okay, so maybe he had gone over the top a couple of times in that phone call, indulged in some hyperbole, but Jack should be used to that by now. "Look, when I get upset, sometimes I say things I don't mean, you know that- "

"No. You don't. You say _exactly_ what you mean but haven't said out loud. You've always had a temper, but you used to be better at reining it in. These days, it doesn't take much to set you off. In case you haven't figured it out by now, there's a reason the SFs started calling you Bitch Lord of the Mountain behind your back."

"What? They don't..." Automatically, Daniel began to deny the accusation, but Jack's deadly serious mien stopped him. "They--they do? They call me--" Stunned, Daniel floundered for words. “What?" 

Suddenly, he recalled a pair of airmen walking past him in the corridor at the SGC a few months back. At the time he'd thought he'd heard one of them mutter "All hail" and the other had punched the first guy in the shoulder and said "Shh!" It had been right after Daniel had lambasted the SFs assigned to moving a cache of artifacts from one storage room to another. Carelessness and lack of attention had resulted in damage to two items, packed inside padded cases. The damage had been completely avoidable and Daniel had told the airmen so in no uncertain terms. Okay, so maybe he could have been nicer about it, but dammit those things were irreplaceable - some of the planets they had come from didn't even _exist_ anymore.

Daniel could feel his blood pressure rising as he got upset again. Now, as he reviewed that incident, this time focusing on what he had said to the airmen and how he had said it, he was ashamed to realize just how over the top his reaction had been. 

All hail the Bitch Lord of the Mountain.

Shit. That _was_ him. Wearily, he sat on the cool damp sand, feet flat and knees up. When had inward irritation turned into outward spite? What had he turned into? Maybe it was time to take a good hard look at himself as well as his relationship with Jack. Much as he hated to admit it, Jack might not be the only one at fault here. Not that that gave Jack a free pass on the sleeping around, though. But if Jack had already dumped him, why was he here?

"What do you want from me, Jack?" 

"For starters, It would be nice to hear you apologize once in a while, though I really would prefer it if you didn't do anything to apologize for to begin with." 

Moving slower than Daniel had, Jack settled onto the sand next to him, mirroring his position, and rested his arms on his knees. 

"What, you want one for the road? One last apology before you go?" 

"Hey, if you want to move on, you can do a lot better than a broken down old war horse like me. Of course, whoever you end with has to put up with your temper, too. Does your toy boy know that?"

"Don't. Don't take this out on him. He's a decent guy, Jack. There won't be any repeats of last night and he knows it. He's nothing more than an innocent bystander. Don't turn him into collateral damage."

“Look, I've got a dozen years on you and I’ve got a lot more mileage on my bones to boot. We’re apart more than we’re together and when we do manage to snatch a few days, I can’t go twice a night anymore the way I used to. The way you still can. The spirit is willing but…” Jack shrugged. “Are you losing interest, Daniel? Is that what this is really about? Not just hyperbole during venting? I can take it if that’s what this is, but just say it okay? Get it over with. Don’t keep me hanging here.” 

"You're not the one left hanging, Jack--I am. I'm out in Colorado by myself spinning my wheels while you hobnob with the big brass." 

"What the fuck, Daniel? We talked about this two years ago." Jack looked astounded. 

"I know we talked about it. I know we decided it was the best thing for the program and for Earth. I acknowledged how difficult it would be for us personally, but that we'd have all the time in the world later after things settle down or you retire. But it's so much harder to live with than I thought it would be." 

"Let me get this straight. You're pissed because I took the promotion, even though we discussed it in detail at great length before coming to a mutually agreed upon decision? You were part of the process every step of the way, yet you're still pissed at me for leaving and you've been taking it out on me and everyone around you ever since?" 

"Dammit, Jack. I go to bed alone, I wake up alone, I spend my days in the office expecting to hear your footsteps coming down the hall. Expecting you to drop by to bug the crap out of me or drag me off to the commissary for lunch and you don't because you're not there anymore. You'll never be there." Daniel's voice broke. "And I miss you _so fucking much_." 

He pressed the heels of his shaky hands into his eyes, trying to keep himself under control. He'd had no idea this was hidden down inside of him. He'd thought he was lonely but coping. Lonely but doing okay. Right now, okay was out of reach and he was hell and gone from coping. 

"Shit. I didn't leave you, Daniel. I'm just," Jack stammered, at a loss for words, "I'm just... not... there. Shit." 

Dropping his hands back down onto his knees, Daniel held his breath and turned his face away trying to compose himself. Jack's hand, strong and warm, patted his shoulder. He missed that. Missed the casual touches, the unthinking slide of flesh to passing flesh as they moved through their lives, taken for granted before this and most noticeable for its absence. 

"I miss you too, Daniel." Jack spoke quietly. "Every day. Every fucking day. Don't push me away because you think I'm going to leave you, okay?"

Daniel didn't answer, too busy cursing his twisted psyche and its abandonment issues. He knew that statistically speaking, any long distance relationship had a higher chance of failure so he had been subconsciously maneuvering theirs into a self-fulfilling prophecy in which Jack seemed only to happy to do his part. Even if Daniel had said they were over, and he was beginning to get a vague recollection of having done so, Jack had essentially agreed with no argument, no counter persuasions, no attempts at salvage, and less than a week later, he'd found an excuse to hop into bed with someone else. Maybe he was working through some issues of his own, but Daniel still found his actions unacceptable.

Daniel sighed. Between the two of them, they'd really fucked this up. 

"Hey. Listen to me. We're not so broken that we can't be fixed. Okay?" A big hand palmed the back of his neck for a moment. "We'll make a point of getting together in person more, even if only one of us is on vacation and the other has to spend half the time at work. Carter's finished with that super-encrypted videophone thingy, right? We'll have her hook us up with the deluxe version so we can see each other as well as hear when we call and that will seem more like being there, right? We can work this out, baby, believe me, okay?"

"Shoe-horning a few more calls into our schedules, video or not, isn't going to solve anything, Jack, nor is a few minutes yelling at each other on the beach."

"I know. We're not done yet. We've got a lot of things to work out, but this is neither the time nor the place. What say we grab some breakfast, get you checked out of the hotel and head home?"

"Okay. But we're not going to fix in a day or a week. This is going to take a lot of willingness, commitment, and frank talk from both of us." Daniel stood then held a hand down to help Jack up. "I need to say goodbye to Michael, too. Let him know we won't be spending the day together." 

"Maybe find out his last name," muttered Jack.

"Don't. Start," warned Daniel. 

Jack looked contrite. "Sorry." 

When they arrived back at the restaurant, Michael wasn't alone. Sitting adjacent to him was a dark-haired man about Jack's age with the look of a once-fit man going to seed. His shirt was brightly colored with a design of large palm fronds and parrots and there was the glint of gold jewelry on his neck and wrist. Daniel noticed Jack eyeing the shirt with interest and wondered how soon he'd see one appear in Jack's closet. 

The new man glanced around as he swigged from a glass of orange juice. When his gaze fell on Daniel, he choked on his drink, coughing and pointing at Daniel. 

Michael blotted juice from the table, looking in the direction the man had pointed. He smiled and nodded hello to Daniel and Jack as they arrived at the table. 

"It's not him, Sam. That's Daniel, the guy I was telling you about." 

"Geez, Mike, he's the spitting image of him."

Ignoring Sam, Michael asked Daniel, "So, are you okay?" 

Jack bristled, though Daniel wasn't sure if it was due to the implication that Daniel might not be okay in his company, or at Michael's proprietary assumption of responsibility for Daniel's welfare, or at the reminder that this was a man Daniel had had sex with. Daniel took in the subtle flexing of Jack's shoulders, the clenched jaw, and the glower and decided the answer was 'all of the above.' 

"He's fine," snapped Jack. 

Michael's eyes flicked between Daniel and Jack and his face took on that deceptively mild expression which Daniel was beginning to recognize as his 'ready for action' look. "If you don't mind, I'd rather hear that from him." 

"Everything's fine." 

As Daniel assured Michael verbally, he briefly put his hand on Jack's arm, hoping to send a tactile message of _stand down_ , _we're fine_ , _you don't need to be jealous_. He was relieved when Sam spoke up, diffusing the tension, though Daniel was unsure if Sam had acted deliberately. 

"I gotta say, you look familiar, too. I'm sure I know you," Sam said to Jack. "Were you ever on the Teams?" 

"Oh my god." Recognition flashed over Jack's face. "The Axe man cometh." He put out his hand and Sam stood as he clasped it and shook it vigorously. "Fancy meeting you here, Sam."

"Jack O'Neill! I thought I knew you. How the hell are you, man?" Turning aside, he spoke to his friend. "Mike, I know this guy. Air force spec ops bad ass. Guy's a legend. We were attached to a joint task force stationed out of Incirlik, Turkey back during the first Gulf war." Sam addressed Jack again. "No self respecting SEAL would ever admit it out loud what with you being in the wrong branch of the service and all but, man, you were what we all wanted to be." 

Daniel looked over at Michael who seemed just as bemused as he was. With a tilt of his head and a crook of his eyebrow, he asked if Michael knew anything about Jack and Sam being acquaintances. Michael's signaled his ignorance with a shake of the head and a shrug of the shoulders. 

"You still drink beer like it's water?" Jack teased Sam. 

"You still think _Mad Magazine_ is classic literature?" Sam indicated the empty chairs. "Have a seat guys. We'll get some menus for you. How about some introductions, too?"

Michael's last name, it seemed was Westen. Daniel had some consolation when he realized that Michael hadn't known his last name, either. As names were exchanged, Sam looked from Michael to Jack and back, as if he knew something was wrong but couldn't put his finger on what it was. Daniel wondered just how much or how little Michael had told him. 

"Mike's a good guy," Sam told Jack. "He's one of us, or at least he was until he got too big for his britches and moved on from the Teams." 

Michael rolled his eyes. "I'm right here, Sam. I can speak for myself, you know." 

"Just helping a brother out. And you." Sam gestured to Daniel. "Are you military? Usually I can tell, but I can't quite get a handle on you." 

"Civilian attach&eactue," Daniel supplied. 

"Which translates into 'not officially, but I could still kick your ass', am I right?" Sam picked up his juice glass and saluted Daniel with it. 

"I'd say that's a fair assessment," added Michael, smiling at Daniel. 

Daniel felt a flush of pride at the compliment, but it had Jack sitting straight up in his chair and looking sharply at him and Michael. Jack's tension had begun to ease when he recognized Sam then gone down even further when Sam vouched for Michael. It didn't go away, however, and Daniel knew better than to think that it would. The knowledge of Daniel's night with Michael had to be simmering in the back of Jack's mind, and Michael's comment seemed to have turned up the heat. 

Under the table, Daniel bumped his knee into Jack's. With an effort, Jack relaxed his posture and leaned back in his chair. Apparently, Jack decided to shelve the questions Daniel knew he would have about Michael's statement, in favor of picking up a thread from when they had first joined the table. 

"So, you two know Victor Stick'em Up?" While Jack often gave the impression he was oblivious to his surroundings, in truth, very little ever got by him. 

"Stecker-Epps, and yes we do. Well, did." Michael's gaze fell to the table top, his expression somber. "He, ah, he's dead."

Jack looked upset. "Shit. You're kidding me. When? How?"

"Few weeks back." Michael looked away for a moment and took a deep breath. "We were working on something together and it went south."

Victor was the name of the man that looked like him. The man that Michael was mourning who Daniel had never heard of. Yet Jack knew Victor's full name well enough to do that thing where he deliberately mangled it and while he was hiding it well, Jack was more upset than the passing of a former associate usually warranted.

"Wait a minute," said Daniel as he turned to Jack. "How do _you_ know this Victor?"

This time it was Jack who looked down as he answered, "Joint op a few years back." 

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember meeting my double."

"It was during the year you were...gone. It really knocked m--the team for a loop seeing what looked like you so soon after...you know."

Jack's distress combined with the way that Jack wouldn't meet his eyes, seemed off to Daniel, but he let it drop for now. Later though, after they'd worked through their more critical issues, he'd get the full story about Jack's involvement with this Victor guy. In the meantime, Michael focused on a different topic. 

"They dropped you for a year then took you back? How'd you do it?" Michael asked. "How'd you get back in?" 

"It wasn't...they didn't..." Oh boy. How to explain radiation poisoning and revocable ascension? "I left voluntarily." 

"What'd you need a year off for, anyway?" asked Sam. 

Daniel's bland, "sabbatical" was uttered at the same time as Jack's "medical leave". They traded glances then Daniel said "health problems" while Jack said "sightseeing". 

Sam grinned. "So, did you never have a cover story or did you forget what it was?"

In unison with Jack, Daniel said, "It's classified."

"Last I heard," said Sam, pointing at Jack, "you were a full bird Colonel with some ultra hush-hush posting. You retired now?"

"I'm too busy failing upward to retire."

"No shit? A general?" Sam looked impressed. "Brigadier?

"Major." 

"Wow! Congrats, man! Where you posted? Hurlburt? MacDill?"

"No Florida sunshine for me, I'm afraid. I'm at the Puzzle Palace." 

"What, the Pentagon left a side door open and you wandered in?" joked Sam. 

"You know," Michael said thoughtfully, "I bet you've made a lot of contacts in intelligence with a career like that. Maybe even some with the Company." 

"Hey, I was spec ops, not black ops." As usual, Jack was indignant at any possible association with black ops. "Everything I did was on the level. I still have no idea exactly what those CIA spooks get up to and I don't want to. Conniving bastards. Always saying one thing and doing two or three others. Why?"

Michael exchanged glances with Sam, who shrugged, looked encouraging and nodded toward Jack. Looking back at Jack, Michael put his elbows on the table, leaned forward and asked, "Have you ever heard the term... _burn notice_?" 

Finis.


End file.
